


If I Was to Write You a Letter

by jukzi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jukzi/pseuds/jukzi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yep. I’m dating someone. Someone awesome. So you really shouldn’t worry about all this,” I say, snatching the letter from him and stuffing it in my gym bag. “I think I wrote this that time Octavia and I drank all that boxed wine and couldn’t stop throwing up the next day. I was really confused about space and time, clearly, and you know, it’s not even worth talking about. Especially with Raven, I mean, it’s not worth upsetting her over nothing.”</p>
<p>“So who’s the guy? Or… girl? The one you're dating."</p>
<p>And of course, at that exact moment, Bellamy Blake turns the corner and starts walking down the otherwise deserted hallway towards us, wearing an Under Armour t-shirt and, for the love of all that is holy, baseball pants. That boy can wear the hell out of a pair of baseball pants. It’s like fate, like something out of a movie. </p>
<p>“Bellamy Blake,” I say without thinking.</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>Or, five people just received love letters from Clarke Griffin that they were never supposed to see. Four letters are years old and went to long-forgotten crushes like Bellamy Blake. One was written yesterday. To her best friend's boyfriend. Hilarity, awkwardness, embarrassment, and fake-dating ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by To All the Boys I've Loved Before by one of my favorite YA authors, Jenny Han. If you haven't read it, and its excellent sequel P.S. I Still Love You, drop everything and do so immediately.
> 
> I couldn't help writing this story. It had to be done.
> 
> I'd also like to use this space to thank all you delightful folks for the wonderful feedback for "Art, Life, and the Sincerest Form of Flattery Thereof." I promise, I'm still hard at work on that one, too. I just couldn't help myself.
> 
> Enjoy!

Before we begin, there are a few things you should probably know about me.

First, I’m not the most ladylike girly girl in the world. In fact, if I had a nickel for every time my mother had to beg me to sit or walk or dress or breathe more like a lady, I’d probably have enough money to buy that new pair of Jordans I’ve had my eye on all year. But then again, this is the same woman who legitimately sobbed when I told her I was quitting ballet in favor of basketball. Sometimes I still find her curled up in bed with a glass of merlot, watching my first and only ballet recital video. It’s kind of sad, really, and if I had the energy to put in the effort to be the little lady she wants me to be, maybe I’d do it. Actually, screw that. Who am I kidding?

I should probably also mention that at one point in my life, I wanted nothing more than to be a princess. It was a strange, strange time, but it wasn’t really my fault. There was this frankly fantastic (though criminally underrated) cartoon called Princess Power about these three beautiful princesses who also kicked ass and fought crime and stuff, and for a time, it really skewed the whole idea of what a princess was for me.

It’s not like the show was a huge hit. After the first few episodes didn’t garner heaps of praise, they released the rest of the first (and also last) season at like 3 AM on Tuesdays, so if you were a seven-year-old with no DVR, you were pretty much screwed.

If not for that show, I never would have become such good friends with Raven and Octavia, even though we played basketball together. We were seven, and the fact that we were all obsessed with the same obscure cartoon was enough of a basis for what became two of the most important friendships of my life.  As it turned out, neither of them had DVR. I think my mom was just so thrilled that I was finally making friends with girls that she didn’t even mind having midweek play dates.

Anyway, back to me wanting to be a princess. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to be a princess, but more so that I wanted to be Princess Kiki. She looked a bit like me, with sort of wild blonde hair and green eyes, and she had a ruby-encrusted crossbow, which was maybe the most awesome weapon ever. For my eighth birthday, I begged my mom to let me have a Princess Power-themed party, but she didn’t really get what I was asking, and it turned out to be just princess-themed. And my Kiki costume really didn’t come across without the crossbow. Instead I just looked like some generic princess. Octavia’s older brother, Bellamy, still has the nerve to call me “Princess” to this day because of it.

Not long after the series finished, we all but forgot about our obsession with Princess Power. We stayed best friends, though.

Maybe the most important thing to know about me, because I think it says a lot, is that I still write snail mail. I’m the kind of person who gets all wistful and nostalgic for the good old days, even though I really wasn’t alive for them. But there’s something really beautiful and thoughtful about selecting your stationery and pen, having to think about what you say before you write it because you can’t just backspace it if you don’t like it. It’s calming, somehow. Mostly, I just write letters to my grandma in Toledo, but I’ve also been known to randomly write a letter to Raven or Octavia when I’m having trouble expressing something. Sometimes it’s when I’m mad at one of them, but more often than not, it’s just random feelings bullshit. I’m not particularly great at expressing emotions. I bottle things up. Supposedly, that’s not healthy.

Writing letters is also how I get over being in love. But we’ll get to that later.

\-----

Of all the days to get a flat tire, this one is not ideal. I’m not sure there’s ever a good day for a flat tire, but when you’re on the way home from getting your ass kicked up and down the court by Tondc High, it just feels cruel and unusual.

I’m less than a mile from home, just a few blocks from Octavia’s, and I think about calling her but then I realize that a) my phone is about to die, and b) she would be ridiculously unhelpful. She’s been obsessed with this senior who goes to Tondc since he (as she tells it) saved her life by pushing her out of the way of a runaway shopping cart in the Target parking lot. He was at our game, and if I call her now, she’ll just stand there, watching me change the tire while speculating a mile a minute about what Lincoln might think about the fact that she went 0 for 8 from the three-point line tonight.

It’s fine. I know how to change a tire. My dad made sure of that. I’ll be fine.

My phone buzzes, rattling around in the cup holder. My heart does some kind of acrobatics it really shouldn’t do when I see who’s calling.

“Hey Finn,” I say, breathless, when I pick it up.

“Hey,” he says, his voice always a little deeper on the phone. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Just seems like you should have gotten home by now. I mean, I know you had to shower and all but…” he trails off. Irrationally, I think he might be picturing me in the shower, but that would be ridiculous. I don’t even tell him that most girls never shower at school, no matter how much we stink.

“Glad to know my creepy next door neighbor is always looking out for me,” I joke, then cringe because it was a terrible joke. “But, yeah, I’m fine. We actually had a pretty lengthy team meeting, which is most of the reason I’m not home yet. You might have ESP, though, because I just got a flat tire.”

“Seriously? Where are you? Let me come help.”

“I’m on Magnolia between Lennox and that other street I’m forgetting the name of.”

“Kingston?”

“Probably. But you really don’t have to come help. I think Papa Griffin would be proud if I changed this tire myself, like he taught me.”

Finn is quiet for a moment. I know it’s awkward for some people when I talk about my dad. But the way I see it, he’s dead, and not talking about him won’t change that. In fact, I kind of talk about him all the time.

“I’m coming anyway,” he says, adamant.

“Please don’t. I’m fine I swear.”

“See you soon,” he says, and hangs up before I can protest anymore.

I’m trying incredibly hard not to be in love with Raven’s boyfriend, but he’s not making it easy. I really hope something comes up and he doesn’t come.

I pull the jack and the spare out of the trunk and get to work.

I’m just starting to jack up my little Honda Accord when a set of headlights pulls up behind me and the jerk just sits there and doesn’t go around. Doesn’t this clown see that I’ve got my hazards on and that I’m, you know, changing a tire? I start waving my arm wildly in a “go around me, for Chrissake” gesture. For a split second, I think it might be Finn, but even he doesn’t drive that fast.

“Princess? Is that you?”

Anyone. _Anyone_ but him. Please.

“It is you! What happened here?”

“What’s it look like?” I spit back.

He turns the car off and once the headlights are no longer blaring in my eyes, I can see that yes, it is in fact Bellamy Blake, undoubtedly on the way home from his girlfriend’s house because there’s no way he’s on the way home from our game. Bellamy Blake has never been one to deign to appear at a girls’ basketball game.

“Tough loss, by the way. Brutal, really. But we all have our off nights, right?”

Or maybe he did. I have no desire to talk about this right now. I already have every turnover and bricked layup playing in my head on replay. The last thing I need is some kind of phony pep talk from _this guy_.

“It’s Friday night. Shouldn’t you be out at some senior party holding Roma’s purse for her while she takes selfies?” Okay, that came out slightly nasty, but he can handle it.

“We broke up, actually,” he says, and it really seems like he doesn’t give a shit. Which is probably a product of the fact that Bellamy Blake and Roma Caruso have been together for over three years, not counting the at least 17 times they have broken up. If Bellamy comes off as unfeeling, it probably has more to do with the fact that he knows they’ll be back together by next week than anything.

“Again?” I say, without meaning to.

“Yes, Princess Smartass, _again_. And you know, I’m actually thinking about letting it stick this time.”

I make a sound of disbelief and turn back to my tire, jacking anew.

The last time Bellamy and Roma took any significant time off from their relationship, Bellamy actually started casually dating someone else. Her name was Echo, and Roma decided to start a rumor that she had herpes. At school, people started shouting “HERP!” as Echo walked by and posting up really graphic photographs of herpes outbreaks on the outside of her locker. She ended up getting a special waiver to transfer to Tondc. Bellamy and Roma were back together within the week.

The car is all the way up. I start to remove the bum tire. “Good luck with that.”

“No really. There has to be something… more, you know?”

I glance at him and shrug, trying to concentrate on my tire and not look at him for too long. When he’s being all earnest and sincere, it’s hard to deny how damn good-looking he is.

Bellamy’s attractiveness isn’t conventional, but then again it kind of is. His hair is dark and soft-looking, but shaggy in a way that mostly went out of fashion something like a decade ago. It works for him, though. His nose is slightly flat and he smirks too much, but sometimes when I look at him, all I see is eyelashes and angles and intriguing freckle constellations. I mean freckles, _God_.

You could plop Bellamy Blake down anywhere in the world and the girls there would swoon, varying international beauty standards be damned. Most hot guys are a matter of opinion, but I’ve never heard anyone interested in guys say Bellamy was anything less than attractive.  He is hot for a fact. He was also my first kiss, which I don’t like to think about.

I’ve probably been silent for too long because Bellamy feels the need to speak again.

“Can I help with anything? I haven’t offered yet because, frankly you look like you’ve got it covered, but I should have asked anyway.”

“I’m fine, but thanks.”

“Have you been stranded here long?”

“Just a few minutes.”

He moves to sit down next to me on the curb. He smells clean and vaguely spicy.

“Am I helping or hurting by keeping you company?”

I have to laugh. “Neither. You’re kind of just a vague annoyance.”

“I’ll take it. I’ve been called worse, usually by you.”

Why am I smiling? Am I flirting with him?

“Someone has to keep that head of yours deflated.”

“I should probably stick around, then.”

Then I remember that Finn will be here any minute and I realize how that might look to Bellamy, that the first person I would call for help is Raven’s boyfriend. Even though he called me. It’s irrelevant, really.

“Actually, someone’s coming for me, so you really don’t have to.”

His smile dims a little. Is he… disappointed?

“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll just get out of your hair.”

He stands up and hesitates, like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know if he should.

“Out with it,” I deadpan.

“I just wanted to say… it’s been a while since I came to one of your games, you and O’s that is. And I really only came because I knew that guy Lincoln she doesn’t think I know about would be there and you know how I feel about O having guys in her life.”

He’s hesitating again, shuffling his feet a little like a bashful kid.

“And?” I prompt.

“And I thought you should know, because I know how hard you take losses, that I’ve never seen anyone do anything with more intensity than you playing basketball.”

I blink at him, unsure of what to say. I’m not sure it’s exactly a compliment, and if it is, I don’t take those well.

“What? You mean, when I threw up enough bricks to build a house?” I scoff.

He half-grins. My breathing picks up speed inexplicably.

“No. You just, you know what you want and you go for it 100%. So what if you played like shit tonight? I bet that’s never happened two games in a row.”

“I guess you’ll just have to come to our next game and find out.”

“I might have to do that.” He backs away toward his car. “Goodnight, Princess.”

“’Night.”

He’s climbing into his car and I can’t stop myself. “Hey, Bellamy?”

He stops and looks up at me.

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything, just grins and gets in the car and then he’s gone.

If there’s one good thing about Bellamy, besides his freckles, it’s his honesty. Bellamy’s not going to try to act like tonight’s game wasn’t that bad, because it was.

I’m putting the bum tire in the trunk and trying to clean the grease off my hands with my sweat towel when Finn pulls up.

“Holy crap, Clarke, you’re done already?” he asks, bursting out of his car and jogging over.

“I’m pretty skilled, you know.”

“Okay, well, um… can I help with anything?”

I stare deliberately at my surroundings, which include literally nothing to be helped with. He laughs, a breathy, almost trill of a sound that I crave.

“Point taken,” he says, eyes on the ground. “So… you want to hang out or something? Get pizza or coffee or whatever else you feel like?”

I want to. I really, really want to. But I also really, really shouldn’t.

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with Raven?” I ask, casual. Probably too casual.

“Do I even have to answer that?”

He really doesn’t. It was a stupid question to begin with. Raven is the most competitive person I know, and she’s pretty much impossible to be around after a loss. Last year, she lost a robotics competition to a guy two years older who goes to Ark Prep. That night, she punched a hole through Finn’s bedroom wall and destroyed his laptop when the snow globe she threw at his desk shattered. Sometimes, Octavia and I still have to come with her on what she calls “surveillance missions” to Ark Prep, during which we dress in all black and peek into the window of the engineering classroom to spy on her “arch nemesis,” a senior with questionable facial hair named Kyle Wick.

“Yeah, forget I asked. But I think I should just go home. There’s this thing I have to write-“

“On a Friday night?” he interrupts.

“Yeah, it’s just this, uh, letter to my grandma,” I lie. “She gets worried if I don’t write her back immediately.”

“Can’t you just, like, call her?” he asks.

“I mean, yeah, but that’s not how she and I do things.”

He shakes his head, grinning, then moves toward me and puts me in a loose headlock.

“You’re a real weirdo, Griffin,” he says, fond, and gives me a very gentle noogie. From my position under his armpit, I can smell his cologne, all woodsy and sweet. I helped Raven pick it out last Christmas.

I shove him off me. “Whatever. See you later,” I say, retreating to the driver’s side.

“You know what?” he grins, “I think I’ll follow you home. Just to make sure you don’t destroy any more of your tires. I know you’re new to this driving thing.”

“Very funny,” I say, climbing into my car. Because of course he’ll follow me home. He lives next door. As if I could ever forget.

When we get home, he gives me a cross-eyed salute from across the hedge and I just grin back at him like a moron. I need to get this under control, like now.

\-----

In my lifetime, I have been in love with five people.

The first was a childish passing fancy for my then-best-friend Wells Jaha, which was probably more possessive jealousy than actual romantic love anyway. Wells started going to a snooty private school at the start of first grade. He actually lived in Finn’s house before Finn’s family, and even though he went to a different school, we continued to play superheroes in our backyards all the time. But then I started noticing he was making all kinds of new friends, and I was terrified of losing him. This fear drove me to believe I was in love with him. I pined away silently, not really knowing how, and Wells got busier and busier with sports leagues and new friends.

At this point, I was already well into my pen pal correspondence with my grandma, and one day sometime toward the beginning of second grade when I sat down to write to her, instead of “Dear Grandma,” what came out was, “Dear Wells, I don’t want to love you anymore.” And then I just kept writing, spilling my guts, and afterward, I felt better.  When I finished my letter, I put it in an envelope, addressed it to Wells, and even put a stamp on it, then hid it in a shoebox under my bed. And so my un-love letters were born.

I will note that it was also around that time that I became friends with Raven and Octavia, so maybe that had more to do with me feeling better than anything.

Wells and I stayed friendly until he moved across town the summer before high school. Now we don’t really see each other, which is too bad because he’s really good at doing impressions of presidents and it’s hilarious.

The next time I fancied myself in love was 6th grade. Our middle school had a bunch of elementary schools that fed into it, so there was a whole new crop of people I’d never met. One of those such people was Monty Green. He sat next to me in English and science, and we helped each other out. You could already tell back then that Monty would go on to be in all the AP science classes, and in case it wasn’t obvious from my constant letter-writing to my grandma, I was a practiced and precocious writer and also an avid reader. Monty was shy and kind of quiet, but with a really cute smile, and he wasn’t gangly and awkward in the way that a lot of sixth grade boys were. I remember thinking he had such graceful hands, and I used to spend hours when I got home from school trying to sketch them from memory, but I could never quite capture them.

I think what I liked most about Monty was that I never felt like I could fully draw him out of his shell. He was a challenge. I always felt like there was so much more that he was thinking, just lurking underneath the surface, and if I was just dazzling and charming and witty enough, I’d find out the world of fascinating ideas that he undoubtedly kept locked away. I asked him to the sixth grade dance and he looked really pained about it, but said no, and made some excuse about his parents. That night, I wrote him an un-love letter, addressed it, stamped it, and put it in the shoebox that I still kept under my bed.

I recently found out that Monty is gay. He’s not actually out at this point, so I probably shouldn’t know, but I was recently over at Octavia’s at the same time Bellamy had his best friend, Nathan Miller, over. Miller (everyone calls him that) was the first guy I ever knew who was both gay and out. He’s also one of the best athletes in school and I’d even go so far as to call him macho. Needless to say, I have him to thank for correcting a lot of stereotypes I might have believed about gay guys. Anyway, I was rooting around in the pantry at the Blakes’ looking for some chocolate covered pretzels that Octavia swore were there but weren’t, when I heard Bellamy and Miller come into the kitchen, probably to get water or something. They couldn’t see me and instinctively, I stood stock still.

“I mean, I get being in the closet,” said Miller, “really, I do. Being young and gay isn’t easy, and from what Monty tells me, the Greens are as traditional as high tea. But you know I’m not into sneaking around.”

Bellamy was quiet for a moment, probably doing that thing where he strokes his chin as if he’s some old wise man with a beard.

“Do you love him?” Bellamy said at last.

“Of course I love him. Otherwise, what the fuck am I doing this for?”

“Would you prefer not being with him to sneaking around?”

“Absolutely not!” said Miller, almost cutting him off.

“Then that’s all you need to know, right? He’ll tell his parents when he’s ready. You made coming out look so easy, but it isn’t that way for everyone. And I’ve never seen you happier, dude. Monty’s good for you.”

I heard somebody sigh, assumedly Miller, before he said, “Yeah. I know you’re right. It just sucks, you know?”

There was another pause, then Bellamy said, cautiously, “Would Madden help?”

Miller laughed. “You know, kicking your ass in Madden always helps.”

After they had retreated to the basement to play video games, I didn’t move for a few minutes. It had been a long, long time since I ever had a thing for Monty, and I’m no stranger to same-sex tendencies myself (more on that later), but I never thought that was what was going on with Monty. And maybe that was what I sensed all those years ago, when I thought he was keeping something close to the vest. Mostly, though, I was just standing there marveling at Bellamy. Who knew he had such… emotional maturity?

Which brings me to my next love, none other than Bellamy Blake. I had never really thought of Bellamy that way. I’d known him since I was seven and he was nine, and at that point, he was a pretty typical big brother in that he was way too cool to hang out with Octavia and her friends. He’s always been good-looking, even at age nine, but I still sort of thought of my friends’ siblings as my own siblings. When you’re an only child and you don’t know what having a sibling _really_ means, you feel like you can have that feeling vicariously through your friends. Or at least I did.

And then one day in seventh grade, maybe six months after my dad died, I spent the night at Octavia’s and my mom was late to pick me up the next day. Octavia was taking karate at that point, and she had some sort of competition that day, so Bellamy was left to “watch me” until my mom could come get me after Octavia and her mom left.

I remember everything about that morning. My hair was in the messiest bun ever and I actually had a little mascara on, as makeup was something O and I had started messing around with. I was wearing red basketball shorts with a hole near the right knee and my boobs were way too big to make my white spaghetti strap tank top look age appropriate. My boobs have always been huge by grade-level standards, but I still wanted to wear what all my friends were wearing, and after my dad died, it was like my mom didn’t have the energy to say no, even when I was getting leered at by grown men. The whole house smelled like bacon from breakfast and Bellamy and I sat awkwardly on the living room couch, with an old rerun of Princess Power (which had made a bit of a retro comeback on Cartoon Network) on the TV that neither of us was really paying attention to.

“You smell like vanilla,” he said, out of the blue.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I said. “I’ve been using a new lotion. You can smell it from there?”

He makes a show of taking a big whiff. “Definitely. It smells like cookies or something.”

“I’ve been thinking of going back to my old one. It doesn’t really have a smell, but I’m starting to think this one is too noticeable—“

And then he leaned over and kissed me. His lips were soft and warm and dry and I had a split second to worry about my breath and the fact that I had no idea what to do with my hands before it was over. He turned back to the TV like nothing had happened while I sat there with a million thoughts bouncing around my head. Before either of us could say anything, my mom honked and I bolted for the door. We never spoke of it.

It was the first time I thought of Bellamy _that way_. He was O’s brother. He was two years older. He called me Princess. But after that kiss, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Not long after that, he and Roma became he and Roma, and eventually I decided it was time to write a letter and get over it. I never told anyone about any of it, not the kiss or the ensuing pathetic crush.

I wasn’t really over it, though, until early in the summer before high school started when I met Lexa at a basketball camp held at the local college. She was a year ahead of me at Tondc, kind of mean but in a weirdly cool way, and completely terrifying. It was my first time liking a girl, and of course, it really confused me. The two hottest, most awesome girls I know also happen to be my best friends and I had never been attracted to them, so why Lexa? But human attraction is strange and doesn’t make sense, that’s what I learned that summer.

We were both point guards, so all day every day, we went at each other like a couple of prize fighters. I’ve never had better competition. Then one day after I had definitely gotten the better of her in a scrimmage, she pulled me into a corner of the locker room, pushed me up against the lockers, and kissed me, hard. We spent most of our free time from then on making out in one of our dorms, but we didn’t talk much. After camp, we never really hung out in any normal way, but she got her license later that summer, and she’d text me late at night and I’d sneak out of my house to make out with her in her dad’s car.

It sort of fizzled out, honestly, after school started. I wrote the letter mostly as a memorial to my first same-sex “relationship,” even though I definitely wouldn’t call what we had love. Anytime we play against Tondc, Lexa and I still compete like hell. She definitely got the better of me this last time.

But Lexa was still important, and not just because she’s a girl. I was in the middle of my thing with Lexa when Finn moved in next door. I was too busy trying to sort out my feelings for Lexa to realize I was in love with Finn until after he and Raven were already together. Not that it would have changed anything, but I think it’s significant.

I always figured one of two things would happen: I would naturally get over Finn or he and Raven would break up. Even if they did break up, I care too much about Raven to go for her ex, but at least I wouldn’t feel so guilty for loving him and we wouldn’t have to hang out with him so much. But at this point, neither of those things has happened and I’d really like to just get over him.

I think it’s time to write him a letter.

\-----

The shit hits the fan on what would have otherwise been a very typical Thursday morning in early February. Basketball season is almost over because with three sophomores in the varsity starting lineup (Raven, Octavia, and me, duh), you can imagine why we’re not in any position to make the playoffs this year. My grandma’s birthday is next week and I’m almost positive my mom won’t remember. Bellamy texted and offered me a ride to school, which is unusual, but I figure Octavia put him up to it because it’s so cold. The parking situation at school is horrific, with not even enough spaces for all the seniors, so if you’re younger and want to drive, you have to find parking in one of the neighborhoods around school. The people who live there charge exorbitant prices to Ark High students to let them park in their driveways or yards, and we just keep paying. My spot is about a half-mile walk to school.

When Bellamy pulls up and honks, though, Octavia isn’t with him. This has never happened before. I climb warily into the cab of his truck.

“Where’s O?” I ask.

“I think she got a ride with Finn and Raven.”

That’s weird.

“Did they have something to do before school I didn’t know about?”

“No,” he says. “I did.”

Now I’m really confused. “What are you talking about, Bellamy?”

“Obviously, we need to talk, Clarke,” he says, and he never calls me Clarke, so now I’m worried.

“Um… okay,” I say, hesitant. “What about?”

There’s a pause. He puts his truck in gear and we start moving.

Low and quiet, Bellamy says, “Just so you know, I don’t have any STDs.”

I can’t help it, I bark out a laugh. He glares at me.

“… Congratulations?”

“And also, for your information, I do not always finish off the good cereal and put the empty box back in the pantry. That’s Octavia!”

“What are you talking about?”

He huffs. “Oh, just that I’m an inconsiderate egomaniac with STDs. You should know, you wrote all about it.”

“I never wrote that!”

“Uh, yeah you did. In your letter. You even signed it, ‘Clarke Griffin, NOT Princess.’”

Oh my God. I’ve only ever written one letter to Bellamy and that sounds exactly like how I would have signed it. But there’s no way he could’ve read that letter, right?

This can’t be happening. Clearly I’m still asleep, still dreaming. I squeeze my eyes shut. I try to remember all that stuff O said last week about lucid dreaming and how she’s learned to control her dreams or something. How did she say she did it? How can I make this stop?

When I open my eyes, Bellamy’s still there and this is real. He’s even holding the letter in one hand. That’s my handwriting. That’s my Earth Day stamp. Oh, God. “How did you get that?”

“Well you know, there’s this service where these people in trucks drive to each house and drop off-“

“Oh my God, it came in the mail?”

“Yeah.”

We’re in a moving vehicle, so there’s really no escape. Suddenly, Bellamy’s rather spacious truck feels the size of a tin of sardines. I feel about as dignified as a sardine.

I do my best to affect an air of amused nonchalance. “Oh, you know what? I kind of remember that. From like, a million, trillion years ago. Lord knows what I said. I was practically an infant.” I pause. “You didn’t show O, did you?”

“No. I didn’t show anyone. Way too personal.”

“Oh, good. Can I see it?” I say, reaching for it casually, and he surprises me by snatching it away and holding it to his chest.

Then he smirks that devious, irresistible Bellamy Blake smirk. “What, you think I’m going to give this back to you? Uh-uh. I’ve never gotten a love letter. I’m keeping it.”

“That is so clearly _not_ a love letter,” I huff.

This time when I go for the letter, I’m quick enough to snag it.

“Fine,” he laughs. “Have it your way.”

“Thanks, suckaaaa” I say, sliding the letter into my backpack as we pull into his assigned parking space. I reach for the door handle.

“Wait,” he says, then hesitates. “I just wanted to say… I never meant to take advantage of you, stealing your first kiss or whatever. I never would’ve—“

I start to laugh in a way that sounds crazy and not at all like me. “Oh, wow. Let’s not even talk about it. Thanks for the ride!” and I literally sprint away from his truck.

I hide out in a bathroom stall and pull out the letter. God, what did I say to him?

_Dear Bellamy,_

_Or, Not Dear Bellamy because it’s about time you weren’t so dear. This has gone on entirely too long and I’ve had enough. I can’t keep loving you. It’s stupid. I don’t want to do it and I refuse to do it for another second._

_When you kissed me, did you know I’d end up in love with you? Sometimes I think that has to be why you did it, because you seem to think everyone loves you. And the worst part, the part that I really hate, is that they do! Everyone does freaking love you. Even I did. But not anymore._

_How could I? You have so many obnoxious qualities:_

_Your room is always, always a disgusting disaster. How do you ever find anything? Do you even respect your belongings? Does it not bother you that your personal pigsty drives your mom crazy and makes more work for her than she already has?_

_You always finish the good cereal and put the empty box back in the pantry. That’s inconsiderate, too._

_You’re always ruffling your hair like it’s some kind of nervous habit, but I’m not fooled. You’re just so damn vain and you know it makes you look all windswept and rugged. But I’m not falling for any of it anymore. No siree._

_Also, why do you have to be so good at everything? I mean, people aren’t supposed to be good at sports and school and also be ridiculously attractive. That’s not fair. Stop showing off._

_And then you had the nerve to kiss me. How could you do that to me? Someone’s first kiss is supposed to be special and mine very decidedly wasn’t. You stole that from me. I mean, I don’t even know what possessed you to do it, other than that you knew you could. And maybe it bugged you that I was the one person in your life who didn’t worship the ground you walked on. Maybe you just wanted to make me see you that way._

_The worst part of the whole thing is that, assuming that was your plan, it worked! I had never really understood your appeal because you’re O’s brother and that’s all I knew how to see you as. Raven used to talk about how hot you were and I’d just be like, “Eh.” But now all I want to do is stare at your arms and trace freckle constellations in my head. I sit around wondering if your hair feels as soft as it looks._

_I don’t know. Maybe you’re not all bad._

_I mean, I remember that one time when you were in 8 th grade when you volunteered to be in the school musical because you saw how upset Mrs. Henderson was about how few boys signed up. You were actually really good as Curly in _Oklahoma! _and even though none of the other “cool guys” would ever have dared to be in a musical before, you made it cool. When the next musical rolled around, you were already in high school, but a ton of guys signed up and Mrs. Henderson was so happy._

_When Octavia got that really bad haircut in 4 th grade, you shaved all your hair off and let her draw all over your bald head with Sharpies. She really liked that._

_And when your friend Miller came out, I remember how cool you were about it. Octavia told me about how you made that t-shirt that said, “My Best Friend’s Gay and That’s Awesome,” and how they tried to make you stop wearing it to school but you fought back and won and it doesn’t seem to bother anyone that Miller’s gay. You did that. I still see you wear that shirt sometimes and it makes me smile._

_I just hate liking you. Do you even know how hard it is for me to see you with Roma? No, you wouldn’t, would you? Because people like you and Roma never have to feel this way. I’ll bet she feels like the only girl in the world when you look at her. You’re good at making people feel special, when you want to._

_I’m glad I got all that off my chest. I know for sure that I’m over you now. I’m immune to you. Like chicken pox. I caught a really bad case of you once and now I never have to worry about catching you again. Which is ironic, because if I ever did kiss you again, I would definitely catch something, but this time it’d be an STD!_

_Clarke Griffin_

_NOT Princess_


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for reading. Again, I must reiterate that if you haven't read To All the Boys I've Loved Before by Jenny Han, you really, really should. It's the inspiration for this story.
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy!

It starts to dawn on me during first period French that if Bellamy got my letter, maybe all my other letters got sent out, too. How did this happen?

I know the letters were still in my possession on Friday, because when I got home Friday night, I finally wrote one for Finn. There was a lot of really embarrassing crying involved, but I felt better the way I always do when I finished, even if I didn’t really feel any less in love with him. I still don’t.

I remember addressing and stamping the envelope. Then I guess I got out my shoebox. I do remember getting out the other letters and marveling at how little my handwriting has changed over the years, but I had to have put them back right?

I pull my phone out of my bag and hide it in my lap while I text my mom.

_Did you happen to find some letters in my room lately?_

A few minutes later, my phone vibrates in my lap.

_Yes. Don’t worry, I was going to the post office anyway so I mailed them for you._

Madame Russo is jabbering in rapid French but I’ve forgotten how to understand it. I can feel all the blood rushing to my face. Oh my God. My mom mailed my letters. All of them.

How am I ever going to face Finn?

I put a lot of effort into avoiding anyone I know for the rest of the day. I do end up seeing Monty while I’m hiding out in the library during lunch, and he pulls me aside.

He opens with, “I don’t want you to worry. Everything’s cool. I’m assuming you wrote that letter a long time ago and I was never supposed to see it, right?”

I can’t help it. I hug him. He laughs. We end up sitting together at a study table in the back corner of the library and actually have a really good talk. It’s too bad we don’t hang out much anymore.

“I shouldn’t feel too special, then?” he says a few minutes later, after I’ve given him a bit of background. “I mean, I’m only one of five so…”

“If that’s how you want to think of it.”

“So who else got one?”

“This is embarrassing.”

“Please?”

It might be nice to have someone to confide in about this. I certainly can’t tell Raven or Octavia, and I’ve definitely never been one to gush about my secrets to my mom.

“Fine. My old friend Wells Jaha. A girl named Lexa I met at basketball camp,” his eyebrows raise at that one, “Bellamy Blake,” his eyes get very wide, “and… Finn Collins.”

That’s when he chokes a bit on his soda.

“Jesus,” is all he says when he stops coughing.

“Yeah. I figured out the letters got sent when Bellamy showed up at my house this morning with my letter in his hand.”

“Brutal,” says Monty.

“Yeah, but mostly I’m terrified to face Finn. What if he showed it to Raven?”

“I’m sure he hasn’t. If it’s anything like my letter, it feels very… personal.”

“That’s exactly what Bellamy said.”

He’s quiet for a moment, absently picking at the label on his soda bottle and seeming to consider something.

“So… a girl, huh?” he finally says.

I smile. “Yeah. I guess you could say I’m bi, but I’m still not sure how I feel about labels.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about labels, either,” he says looking at his sandwich very intently. “Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“You said something in the letter about how I was always such a mystery because it seemed like I was keeping something locked away. So can I tell you something that barely anyone knows?”

“Absolutely. I mean, it’s only fair, seeing as you’re the only person in the world who knows about all five of my past loves.”

He smiles shyly then takes a deep breath.

“I have a boyfriend.” He lets it out like a long-held breath.

I smile, and of course I already know, but I reach across the table and give his hand a squeeze.

“That’s awesome, Monty. I’m happy for you.”

“It’s Nathan Miller,” he says like he can’t not say it, “And I think I love him.”

I want to tell him I know how much Miller loves him, too, but I’m not sure if I can tell that story without making it clear that Bellamy knows about them, in case he’s not supposed to.

“Who else knows?”

“Just my best friend Jasper and, well, Bellamy Blake, incidentally.”

Okay, so Monty knows Bellamy knows.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I actually overheard Miller and Bellamy talking about you, not too long ago at the Blakes’ house. I didn’t hear them mention you by name, or anything,” I lie, “but Miller was talking about how he hates sneaking around, but would hate it more if you weren’t together because he loves you.”

Monty blushes.

“Then Bellamy said he’s never seen Miller happier,” I continue. “I figured they were talking about someone I didn’t know, but I’m glad to know it’s you. Miller’s great and you both deserve to be happy.”

I’m still holding his hand and when I glance down, I remember how much I used to obsess over his hands.

After a beat, I say, “Hey Monty? Can I draw your hands sometime?”

He collapses into a fit of not-so-silent giggles.

“You mean my ‘graceful hands?’ Absolutely,” he chokes out through his laughter and the librarian gives us a glare. “What are friends for?”

\-----

I’m so good at hiding that I’ve been getting frantic texts from Octavia and Raven all day, wondering if I’m alive.

_Have you even come to your locker all morning? Where the crap are you?_

_Okay, Monroe just said she saw you in English, so I know you’re alive. WTF?_

_So… you just missed lunch. What the fuck is going on, Clarke?_

_Are you in a ditch somewhere? Should I call the cops? The FBI? Or (gasp) your mom?_

_Did you have to go home with sudden explosive diarrhea? Or worse, are you still at school with explosive diarrhea?_

I choose not to respond. It’s surprisingly easy to be invisible in a massive school.

We have about 30 minutes between the end of school and the beginning of basketball practice. Usually, Octavia, Raven, and I meet up with Finn by the main vending machine area and sit around stuffing our faces until Finn has to leave so we can go get dressed for practice. Obviously, I can’t do that today, so instead, I hide on a bench in one of the senior hallways.

That’s where Finn finds me.

“Clarke…” He’s standing over me, eyes wide. “I’ve been looking for you all day…” He sticks his hand out. He’s holding my letter. I want to die. “Can you please help me understand what this is about?”

For a second, playing dumb is the only reaction that comes to mind.

“What _what_ is about?”

“This. This letter. From you. To me.”

I decide on a new course of action pretty quickly: downplay, downplay, downplay.

“Oh, that? God, where did you even get that? I haven’t seen that in a million years.”

I can hear how crazy I sound. I wish I didn’t sound so crazy.

“Right… but we’ve only known each other for two years. And you mention some stuff that I’m pretty sure is kind of recent.”

“Yeah. I mean, it _feels_ like forever ago. And, you know, any _feelings_ I might have talked about are, like, way super old I’m pretty sure it was mostly a joke anyway.”

I’m not a big crier, but I can feel the tears coming. But God, I can’t cry. If I cry, he’ll know this isn’t no big deal.

His eyes are boring into me and I can’t look at him.

“So…” he begins, then hesitates. “Clarke, do you have feelings for me? Or did you?

“I mean, yeah, I guess I had a crush on you at one point, but you know, Raven is my best friend so it was never a big deal or anything. And it’s over. Long over.”

“But you never said anything. I mean, I wish… I don’t know. I really don’t know, I just… I don’t know what to think or say.”

He’s looking at me kind of sadly, but also looks really confused, and for a split second I think he looks at my mouth and, wait, is he thinking about kissing me? No, no, no he can’t do that. He’s Raven’s and this is crazy, and whatever it is he doesn’t know how to say, I can’t hear it because it might kill me.

I don’t really think the next part through, but it comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.

“I’m dating someone. Did I tell you?”

Whatever he expected me to say, clearly it wasn’t that.

“What?”

“Yep. I’m dating someone. Someone awesome. So you really shouldn’t worry about all this,” I say, snatching the letter from him and stuffing it in my gym bag. “I think I wrote this that time Octavia and I drank all that boxed wine and couldn’t stop throwing up the next day. I was really confused about space and time, clearly, and you know, it’s not even worth talking about. Especially with Raven, I mean, it’s not worth upsetting her over nothing, right?”

He presses his lips tightly together and nods. But that’s not good enough.

“You swear? Swear you won’t upset my best friend over nothing?”

“Fine. I swear.”

“Awesome.”

Him standing over me is really uncomfortable. I’m getting up to leave when he says, “So who’s the guy? Or… girl?”

“Huh?”

“The one you’re dating?”

And of course, at that exact moment, Bellamy Blake turns the corner and starts walking down the otherwise deserted hallway towards us, wearing an Under Armour t-shirt and, for the love of all that is holy, baseball pants. That boy can wear the hell out of a pair of baseball pants. It’s like fate, like something out of a movie.

“Bellamy Blake,” I say without thinking. “See you later, Finn!”

I bolt away from Finn, right at Bellamy. He doesn’t really see me coming until I’ve launched myself at him, wrapping myself around him like a sloth on a branch. People always talk about getting so close to someone that you can count their freckles, but that’s insane. Up close, I just realize Bellamy has entirely too many freckles for me to ever dream of counting them all. For a split second, he looks at me like I’m a mental patient, but then he smirks and says, “Princess, what the—“

I don’t let him finish, I just kiss him. At first, he just kind of stands there, but he recovers pretty quickly and, dare I say, enthusiastically. One of his arms wraps tightly around my waist while the other hand slides up to an area I would definitely consider ass-adjacent on my thigh. I let one hand tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, and holy shit, it is exactly as soft as it looks. I can’t believe this is happening. Half of me wishes the whole school could see this because the whole school would be so fucking jealous of me. The other half tells the first half to shut up.

When I pull back, he’s shell shocked, but still kind of smirking.

“Thank you,” I say, breathlessly disentangling myself.

“You’re welcome,” he says, amused.

I backtrack a few steps to pick up my bag from where I dropped it and sprint off toward the gym, past a small crowd of cheerleaders gathered at the end of the hall, gaping at me. The whole school will know about this by the time practice starts.

\-----

I try to creep into the locker room as surreptitiously as I can. Maybe O and Raven are already out there shooting around, that would be good.

But of course, that’s not what happens. Raven is on a bench in front of my gym locker, which is currently blocked by Octavia, who is standing there glaring at me with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Harper says she just saw you and my brother, like, having sex in the middle of the hallway. What. The. Fuck.”

I sigh and start changing. “That is clearly not true. You know I’m classier than hallway sex.” I hesitate. “We might have kissed, though.”

“Ew, why would he do that to you?” Octavia says as I take off my shirt.

“Why not?” Raven pipes up. “I mean, check out that rack, am I right?”

I glare at Raven and turn away to change into the seriously intense sports bra I’m forced to wear. It has like 15 hooks down the front and looks like a very small Kevlar vest.

“He didn’t do anything to me,” I say. “We kissed, it’s over, it’s not a big deal.”

“Um, yes it is,” Octavia says. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve worried about losing one of my best friends this way? First, it’s just one kiss, then before you know it, you’re coming over to my house to hang out with Bell and we’re not even friends anymore.”

“Seriously, O? That would never happen.”

“Yeah,” says Raven. “Neither of us is ever going to dump you for your brother.”

“I know _you_ were never in any danger of that, Ray, but this one?” she jerks a thumb at me, “Absolutely.”

“I’m not sure if I should be insulted by that or not,” Raven laughs.

“Come on, you must have noticed how he looks at her sometimes, like she’s completely fucking fascinating,” says Octavia, like I’m not even there.

“I _am_ completely fucking fascinating.”

“She has a point, there, O,” Raven says.

Octavia ignores her. “What are your intentions with my brother, Clarke?”

“Jesus, I don’t know. I don’t have any intentions.”

Octavia eyes me warily. I don’t know what the big deal is. I don’t even like him. If anyone in this room should be worried about my romantic intentions, it’s Raven. Though, wait, no, she actually really shouldn’t be, because I definitely don’t have romantic intentions toward her boyfriend. God, this is a mess. I try to focus on lacing up my Jordans and not give any indication that I’m panicking inside.

“Can we just go to practice now?” I say. “If we’re late, Coach will definitely make us run suicides.”

“Fine,” says Octavia. “But this conversation is not over.”

\-----

I really should have thought this through. The fake boyfriend idea was pretty weak to begin with, but choosing Bellamy Blake out of all the 1,500 or so guys at our school just proves that I might be unhinged. He’s Octavia’s brother. As of recently, he has reason to believe I’m in love with him. The entire world actually _is_ in love with him. His ex is a raging bitch. I really couldn’t have picked anyone worse.

Monty would have been perfect. I feel like we’re about to start hanging out a lot, anyway, with our recently rekindled friendship and newfound confidante status. I would have made an excellent beard for him, in case that was something he was into, and if not, we could stage a public breakup. Although Monty’s not very public. And Miller probably would’ve been pissed.

God, the fake boyfriend idea was awful.

I feel like I owe Bellamy some kind of explanation, so I wait for him outside the boys’ locker room after practice. Baseball practice isn’t that much longer than ours, but boys are weird enough to shower at school, so I know I’ll have to wait a while. The rest of the team streams out one or two at a time, eyebrows knowingly raised at me, and of course Bellamy is the last one out. His hair is wet and kind of combed backward. Who knew he had such a pale forehead?

He notices me, musses up his hair (of course), says, “Hey,” and doesn’t stop walking.

I jog to catch up with him. I’m suddenly very aware of how good he smells and looks and how terrible I smell and look.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

He stops walking and turns to face me.

“Listen, Clarke, you’re… great. I’ve always thought so. You’re a great friend to my sister and you always say the craziest things, and you even manage to look pretty good when you’re disgustingly sweaty and dressed like a 10-year-old boy at basketball camp. But I just broke up with Roma, and I’m really not trying to be anyone’s boyfriend—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I cut him off, “Who said anything about boyfriends?”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Princess,” he says, giving me a really condescending pity face. “I’m actually flattered that you’ve liked me all this time.”

“Yeah right. Could you be any more into yourself?

“Then how do you explain that kiss?”

I look around wildly, like maybe a sensible answer will appear to me.

“I never would have kissed you if I actually liked you.”

“Well that makes sense.”

“Fine. You want to know what really happened? Five of those Godforsaken letters got sent out, so you really shouldn’t feel that special. And I actually am still trying to get over one of the five recipients, and spoiler alert, it’s not you. I didn’t want him thinking I’m still pining over him, and I was telling him that when you strutted down the hallway, all baseball pants and machismo, and I just… acted without thinking.”

His hand goes to his chin and I have to smile because the invisible-beard-stroke is a textbook Bellamy move. He’s been doing it since I’ve known him.

“So who is this lucky Bachelor #5?”

“I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Uh, yeah you do.” He starts ticking off reasons on his hand. “For one thing, I’m guessing I’m your ride home, so you owe me for that. For another, I gave you the honor of making out with me today, so you owe me for that, too. And finally, I put on a show for the guy, so I think I deserve to know who he is.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. But if you tell anyone, I’m Instagramming that picture I took of you after you let O put makeup on you last year.”

“I thought you said you deleted that!”

“You honestly thought I would delete golden blackmail material like that? Am I stupid?”

“Fine, I swear. Out with it.”

I chew on my bottom lip. “Finn Collins.”

“Raven’s boyfriend?” He whistles. “Shit.”

“Shit, indeed. I just… I can’t have him thinking I have feelings for him.”

“Even though you do?”

“… Yeah.”

“So… I was your beard?”

I shrug. “Kind of.”

“You really are something, Princess.”

And then he looks at me like I’m fucking fascinating. We’re both totally silent on the way home.

\-----

Finn and Raven are painfully obvious about being sexually active, although fortunately for them, their parents haven’t cottoned on yet. Finn’s parents never stay up past 10:30 and apparently they sleep like the dead. Raven just has her mom, and really she only has her mom part time anyway; she’s a showgirl, and she’ll disappear for months at a time for some gig or other, leaving Raven with only her senile grandmother to keep an eye on her. Consequently, I frequently witness Raven climbing up the vines on the side of Finn’s house and scrambling through his bedroom window. The mornings after, she always climbs into my window, knowing my mom will already be long gone for work. She keeps probably a third of her clothes at my house for such occasions.

That night, though, she climbs into my window and finds me facedown on my bed, face buried in my pillow.

“Jesus, are you trying to suffocate yourself?”

I startle dramatically and fall off the bed.

“Shit, Ray, a little warning next time?”

“I knocked on the window. I was kind of scared you were dead.”

“Well I’m not but here’s hoping.”

Raven plops down next to me on the floor and slings an arm around me.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” I’m frantic. “The whole school’s talking about how I sexually assaulted Bellamy Blake!”

“Not the whole school. There are plenty of people who are talking about how you two are a thing now,” Raven hesitates. “So… are you?”

“What, a thing with Bellamy? Yeah, right.” And then I remember that she and Finn tell each other everything, and I told him I was dating Bellamy. “I mean, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You do know Roma Caruso’s going to claw out your eyeballs with her pinkies either way, right? You may as well enjoy the spoils.”

I shrug because I know if I say anything more about it, all my lies are going to start to unravel.

“Well, as long as you’re okay, I’m going to head back over to Finn’s. Oh! That reminds me, he asked me to give you this.” And she hands me one of my letters.

I snatch it from her hands. It’s addressed to Wells Jaha. Which makes sense, because at the time I wrote it, Wells lived in Finn’s house.

“Finn said he found it under a floorboard in his room, unopened. I guess Wells never read it.”

I’m glad she didn’t notice the postmark.

“How weird,” I say.

“Yeah. You think it’s a looooove letter?” Raven coos.

“Who knows? I probably wrote it from camp. I’ll bet it just says, ‘Miss you! Archery is cool! Love, Clarke.’”

She laughs. “Classic Clarke. Let me know if it’s anything juicier.” She climbs out the window and she’s gone.

I fall asleep to the weather forecast, which is suddenly predicting snow, and I pray, pray, pray it’s accurate for once.

\-----

When I wake up, there’s like a foot of snow on the ground. Okay, maybe not a foot, but this is the south. If it’s any more than an inch, it may as well be a foot.

I run downstairs and find my mom sitting on the couch in pajamas, looking incredibly out of place. I honestly don’t remember the last time she was on the couch in pajamas.

“So I guess even ‘essential personnel’ have to stay home, huh?” I ask. Because at Presbyterian Hospital, my mom is definitely essential personnel.

“They called in only the surgeons who live closest,” she says, tense. My mom has always been more stressed out when she’s not working than when she is.

“And school?”

“Cancelled,” she says with a weak smile.

I try to keep my reaction to a normal level of relief. The last thing I need is my mom asking what I’m so happy to avoid at school.

I don’t have to see Bellamy. I can avoid Finn. Nobody can ask me questions about who my boyfriend is or isn’t. I can hide in my bed and act like the world outside doesn’t exist, which is really easy to do when you look outside your window and everything is still and white.

By noon, the roads have cleared, my mom heads in to work, and I’m still in my pajamas. I check my phone for the first time today, and there’s a text from Raven.

_Assuming you didn’t die from pillow suffocation, you should know that we’re walking over to Octavia’s to make a giant snowman. Respond if alive. I will assume the worst if you don’t._

The text is a couple hours old, but I friggin’ love snowmen, so I hop in my car, now that the roads have cleared. It only dawns on me that the “we” Raven mentioned definitely includes _Finn_ and I’m driving over to _Bellamy’s_ house when I’m pulling into the driveway. At least Bellamy’s truck is gone.

The snowman is pretty impressive. I’m not entirely sure how they did it, but it’s at least 10 feet tall.

Raven and Octavia are making snow angels when I arrive and they don’t stop on my account, even when call out a greeting. So I stand with Finn, watching them, because what the hell else am I supposed to do?

“Where did you get enough snow for the snowman? It looks like the yard hasn’t been touched.” Making pleasant conversation seems safe enough.

“Bellamy and I filled up trashcans with snow from the backyard. Octavia insisted on leaving the lawn untouched. Well, aside from footsteps and snow angels, of course.”

Oh, God. The two of them were alone together. Did they talk about me? Of course they talked about me. It probably takes a while to fill up a giant trashcan with snow, so what else would they have talked about? Or is that just me being self-centered?

“Where did he go?” I ask, trying to sound breezy.

“You might have noticed our snowman doesn’t have a nose. Bellamy insisted it has to be a carrot, but we didn’t have one, so he ran to the grocery store.”

That probably means he’ll be back soon. I take a deep breath and watch the exhaled air fog up in front of me. The sky is clouding back over and it seems to be getting colder.

Finn kicks some snow around. “So… how’s it going with him?”

Oh, God.

“You mean since yesterday?”

“No, I mean, you sure you’re, you know, sure?”

He seems to have lost his command of expressive language. Oh no. Bellamy must’ve said something about how we’re not really dating. Fuck.

“Actually, I think that’s probably over. We got in this really big fight last night on the phone. I guess our romance just couldn’t withstand the public eye. Not unlike Ben Affleck and J.Lo. Not to mention he’s definitely never, ever going to be over Roma.”

His brow wrinkles. “That’s weird.”

“How so?”

“He made it sound like it’s going awesome and that he likes you so much I’m afraid he’s obsessed with you.”

I’ve always had a horrible poker face. Clearly Finn can tell I’m shocked.

“Yeah, it surprised me, too,” Finn says, as if that’s not a statement laced with horribly hurtful implications.

“What, you were surprised that he actually likes me?”

“I mean, I guess. Bellamy’s not really the kind of guy who would be into a girl like you.” I glare at him in disbelief. “I mean, you’re not exactly…”

“Not exactly what? A future Victoria’s Secret model like that horrible cow Roma?”

“No! That’s not what I meant! I just mean that you’re cool and sarcastic and into sports, kind of like one of the guys, except, you know, you’re a girl. I guess I just never thought of Bellamy as the kind of guy who’d like that.”

I blink at him a few times and don’t register Bellamy’s truck pulling up until he’s climbing out of the cab with a large carrot clutched in one hand.  He walks up to Finn and me, and before he can say anything, I snatch the carrot from him and hurl it at Finn.

I grab Bellamy by the front of his coat. “Let’s go for a walk.”

\-----

Bellamy thinks well on his feet, I’m noticing. When I have my little vegetable-slinging tantrum, he just grins, grabs my hand, and says, “As you wish, Princess.”

Once we’re out of sight, he lets go of my hand, and I find myself frowning.

“Lovers’ spat?” he says.

“Well according to Finn, you told him you and I are the lovers in this weird little situation.”

“Actually, I believe that was you who told him that. I was just covering your ass.”

“Well my ass never asked for your coverage.”

“Would you rather I told him it was all a big fat lie?”

He’s got me there. I don’t have a response.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says.

“So, what, you just want to pretend to be my boyfriend now? Because there’s really no way to just do this part time. The minute you and Roma get back together, Finn’s going to hear about it.”

“I’m _not_ getting back together with Roma. In fact, I got to thinking, and if Roma believes I’m in a relationship, maybe she’ll finally move on.”

“I anticipate it having this opposite effect.”

“No, seriously. Part of the reason we keep getting back together is that I’m a huge sucker for a crying girl, and I don’t know how to say no when she comes begging for me to take her back. She always does this thing where she gets all weepy and says shit like, ‘I knew it! I’m repulsive! I knew you could never love me! Just tell me all the things that are wrong with me!’ But if I have a girlfriend, I have an ironclad excuse. I can just be like, ‘It’s not you, it’s me being in love with Clarke Griffin.’“

At the mention of the L-bomb, I stop walking.

“You think we can sell this as love?”

He stops, too, and turns to face me.

“Oh, absolutely. Watch.”

The first thing he does is yank off his gloves and throw them to the ground. I’m looking at him like he’s nuts when he snakes one hand slowly around my waist and pulls me flush against him, then pushes a stray lock of hair off my face with the other hand. His warm thumb starts gently stroking my cheek, feather light, and I’m blinking up at him like some kind of idiot. His face starts moving toward mine until our foreheads touch and our foggy breath mingles. My heart is like the entire percussion section, beating out a rapid and seemingly erratic rhythm while I start forgetting how to breathe. If you could actually see the outline of my breasts through all my layers and you were a creepy romance novelist, you would absolutely describe my bosom as heaving. His eyes are hooded. God, I knew he had impressive eyelashes, but these are ridiculous. I close my eyes and wait impatiently. The suspense might kill me.

I’m about to take matters into my own hands when he pulls away abruptly. Dazed, I suck in a deep breath and blink a few times at his smug, grinning face.

“See? Love.”

How is he not a huge puddle of mush like me right now? And how does he have this much of an effect on me when a) he shouldn’t and b) I clearly have no effect whatsoever on him?

“Yeah, to the seriously untrained observer. Most people call that lust, at best.”

“You’ll see. They’ll buy it.”

The snow starts falling again in fat flakes and Bellamy and I retreat back to his house. According to my weather app, we’re in for 8 inches overnight, which may as well be a blizzard in the south. We all decide to drive over to my house and hunker down for the night because there’s no way my mom will come home if she thinks it’ll mean another morning away from the hospital.

I change into flannel pants and a massive crewneck UNC sweatshirt, which was my dad’s, and when I appear in the living room, Bellamy acts like I’m the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

He tugs me close by the sweatshirt and says, “How are you so damn cute all the time?”

Octavia looks completely scandalized.

“So this is really a fucking _thing_ now?” she says, disgusted.

Bellamy pulls me down with him onto the oversized armchair and slings an arm around me. I curl up into his side.

“Get used to it, O,” he says.

I chance a glance at Finn, who is pointedly looking anywhere but in our direction.

Bellamy is legitimately gazing adoringly at me. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he can pull off pretending to be in love with me.

“I wish Lincoln was here so I could nauseate you, Bell,” Octavia grumbles.

“That would involve you two having a relationship outside your daydreams, O,” Bellamy says. I laugh, because it’s true and I’m nervous and Octavia gives me a look that might kill me.

“Well, maybe this is exactly the motivation I need to make a move,” Octavia spits back. She pulls out her phone. “I’m texting him now. Something overtly flirtatious. I’ll probably use a winky face emoji.”

“Do whatever you want, little sister. I’m too happy to care.”

Personally, I think he’s taken it a bit too far, but apparently, it was just the right amount of far for Finn, who stands up suddenly.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Raven asks.

“Nothing,” he says, tearing his eyes away from Bellamy and me. “I should probably go home, though. You know, make sure my mom left all the faucets dripping and whatnot.”

“I can come with, if you want,” Raven says. Her voice always seems to rise in pitch by at least a half-octave when she’s addressing Finn and I hate it.

“Nah, you should stay. Maybe I’ll come back later.”

He seems to make a point of not looking at me as he exits. So either he’s disgusted or… jealous? No, can’t be.

After Finn leaves, I pop popcorn and we watch one of my favorite movies, _Zoolander_. I didn’t know this, but apparently, it’s one of Bellamy’s favorite movies too, and I can’t stop laughing because he keeps whispering really awesome Derek Zoolander impressions in my ear. Octavia pretty much never stops scowling.

“God, you guys are already the worst,” Octavia says.

“I don’t know, O,” Raven says, smirking. “I think it’s kind of great. I’m happy for you guys.”

Bellamy’s doing that beaming at me thing again. I can vaguely feel him playing with the ends of my hair.

“How did this happen, anyway?” Octavia says. “Like, where was I while my best friend was scamming on my brother?”

“There was no scamming, thank you very much,” I say, defensive.

“I’m curious, too,” Raven says. “When did this happen?”

Oh, God. We never discussed this. They’re going to know we’re faking it immediately.

“Remember New Year’s Eve?” Bellamy says without missing a beat.

“It wasn’t even two months ago, Bell. Of course we remember.” Octavia says, impatient.

“Well, do you remember how crazy hot Clarke looked?”

“You’re an animal,” O says.

“No, seriously. There I was, at our party, talking to this incredibly cool, smart, hot girl, having the best time… and then my girlfriend showed up. I knew then and there that I was about to kiss the wrong girl at midnight. I broke up with Roma a week later.”

He is a fantastic liar. It’s kind of scary. Of course, the actual events he mentioned did happen. I remember hanging out with him pretty much by ourselves for almost an hour at the Blakes’ party on New Year’s. We spent most of it arguing about college basketball, even though we’re both UNC fans. Bellamy is a massive pessimist when it comes to sports, and I don’t really see the point in supporting a sports team if you always believe the worst is going to happen.

There’s no way he was actually having any of those thoughts, though. I saw him making out with Roma at midnight and he didn’t seem too disappointed.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Octavia says. “How did you go from ‘Wow, Clarke is hot and awesome’ to being her couch cuddle buddy?”

“Well, she put up a fight, I’ll tell you that. I kept trying to ask her out and she kept saying some variation of ‘I would never do that to Octavia.’”

O looks touched. “Really? You did that for me?”

“You know I’d never want to hurt you,” I say.

Octavia considers for a moment. “But you still did it. The whole jumping him in the hallway thing.”

I can’t fight back a smirk. “I couldn’t help myself. Blame the baseball pants.”

“Ew.”

I look out the window to hide my blush and notice that the snow, which has been taking a break for a while, has started back up.

“I should probably go try to salt the front steps again before it starts really coming down,” I say, and slip out from under Bellamy’s arm.

Of course when I get outside, Finn is doing the same thing to his front porch. He gives me a half-assed version of his cross-eyed salute and I smile back. Something is off between us.

“Is everyone still over there?” he calls.

“Yeah. I think Bellamy’s about to make is famous hot cocoa if you want to rejoin the festivities.”

Finn closes up his box of salt. “Nah. My dad’s out of town and I don’t want to leave my mom alone.”

I’m nodding when my front door opens. In one movement, Bellamy steps out onto the porch and pulls me in close to him. He doesn’t even look in the direction of Finn’s house, so I’m not sure he knows Finn is there until he whispers, “Is he watching?”

I nod, barely perceptible. And then his mouth is on mine, hot and urgent. I let out a pathetic little gasp and my knees go a little slack, but he’s holding me up, his arms solid around my waist. I have this crazy thought that I wish I wasn’t wearing my stupid puffy coat because otherwise, every part of me would be flush up against every part of him and I want that more than I should. And then I can’t help myself, I pull his bottom lip gently between my teeth and he _growls_ , backing me up against the door. It’s only when my cold, bare hand finds it’s way underneath his shirt that he pulls back, breathing hard. I must be out of my mind, but I don’t want to stop.

“Jesus,” he says.

“Sorry,” I say, not meeting his eyes.

He tilts my chin up. “Never, ever apologize for making out with me. Plus, I kissed you, remember?” He glances sideways toward Finn’s house. “Looks like we scared him off.”

“Yeah, well,” I say. “We probably shouldn’t make a habit of doing… that. We’re not really dating, right?”

“Right.”

And a completely unhinged part of me is disappointed he didn’t disagree. That he didn’t say, “No, Clarke. You’re amazing. I want to date you and make out with your face all the time.”

“We should probably go inside,” I say, trying not to look at him lest I do something crazy like tackle him to the ground.

“Cocoa?”

“That would be great.”

As he hands me a mug a few minutes later, I can’t stop looking at his lips. It’s like I’m twelve years old again and he’s just commented on my vanilla lotion and kissed me and ruined me for other boys.

And suddenly I remember. Finn. That was all supposed to be about Finn, about convincing him I’m over him. And I’m still not, of course.

But what if I’ve made a huge mistake? What if my plan to convince Finn I’m not in love with him anymore actually just makes me start feeling things I definitely shouldn’t feel for my fake boyfriend instead? That’s really not a better alternative.

So it’s a good thing I’m not. Feeling anything real for Bellamy, that is. Because someday soon, he’ll be back with Roma and Finn will still be with Raven and I’ll still be the same old single Clarke Griffin I’ve always been.

I wonder how Mom would feel about me starting a collection of cats.


End file.
